


riddle me this

by Lyla_Stars



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Despair (Dangan Ronpa), Angst, Character Study, Death, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Murder Mystery, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Riddles, Slow Burn, Unreliable Narrator, dw the dead ppl are background characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:15:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27026434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyla_Stars/pseuds/Lyla_Stars
Summary: Belief — A taleAnd a mirrorKeeper of gold ringsShe may beBut a KeeperHe is notAnd her blood cries out to him from the soilShuichi finds three things in this exact order: a note, a boy and a series of murders.(And maybe somewhere along the way, he finds himself too)
Relationships: Kirigiri Kyoko & Saihara Shuichi, Oma Kokichi/Saihara Shuichi
Comments: 6
Kudos: 23





	riddle me this

**Author's Note:**

> warning: mentions of death, suffocation 
> 
> me posting a new fic that will probably be very long even though i may be too busy to work on it? more likely than you think
> 
> i’m just posting this before i convince myself otherwise. i didn’t want to edit this anymore so there might still be mistakes. comments are appreciated :)

> _Belief — A tale_  
>  _And a mirror_  
>  _Keeper of gold rings_  
>  _She may be_  
>  _But a Keeper_  
>  _He is not_  
>  _And her blood cries out to him from the soil_

Shuichi studied the words, typed in uniform black font, for the umpteenth time that evening, and sighed when his mind came up blank once again.

A white rectangular, 9cm x 5cm card — left innocuously on the Saihara Detective Agency’s reception desk. No logos, no pictures, no names — easily dismissed by many to be a stray post-it note.

But Shuichi, who had been manning the desk since opening hours, _knew_ better. 

Aside from Detective Tatsuki and a few familiar clients, _no one_ had entered the lobby. And to make matters worse, he’s fairly certain that the note had only miraculously appeared _after_ he’d returned from a quick restroom break — the _only_ time the reception desk was left unattended.

An appearing act — straight out of a magic show — done deliberately and swiftly. Whoever was responsible didn’t want to be discovered, that much was clear. Yet the question remained: Why? ( _Unless they had to something to hide_ whispered from the corner of his mind.)

Then there was the contents of the note itself — purposefully vague, with an almost poetic tint, like a handwritten note from an Olympian God. (Hermes perhaps, he’s certainly got the stealthiness for it.) But most importantly, just what was this note intended to _be_? A prank? A warning? A _threat_?

(Too many questions. Too many _too many_ , crowding and bubbling in his head like a boiling cauldron.)

Shuichi sighed.

All in all, this was going nowhere, and staring forlornly at the card probably wasn’t going to change much either. He leaned back against his chair and stretched out his arms, groaning as he worked out the cricks in his back.

One glance at the digital alarm clock on his study table (right next to his trusty black cap — one of the only thing that eased his anxiety at this point.) revealed that it was a little after midnight. _I should get to bed soon if I don’t want to oversleep._ A picture of Maki’s death glare flashed in his mind and a shiver ran down his spine. _And now, if I want to live till the end of tomorrow._

Standing up, he settled into the familiar routine of slipping case reports back into their respective folders. Aside from the usual rustling of leaves here and there, and the achingly loud screech his chair made against the floorboards, there was not a single peep of noise in the summer wind that night.

All alone in his room, with just him and his thoughts; It was serene, almost. 

Peaceful.

A cool breeze washed over him, and his hands paused mid movement. He turned towards the window.

The luminescent moon in the sky, encompassing a soft, tender glow — draping the room in an ethereal veil of light and beaming down on him. As if it were a loving mother, wrapping him up in a gentle embrace and welcoming him back home.

Radiant and lucent, coveted by stars who flock to its faithful lustre; _Surely,_ Shuuichi thought, _the moon would never be lonely._

Wandering eyes unwittingly fell once more onto the note and the words that had plagued Shuichi since the afternoon. He smiled wryly.

Perhaps if he were anything like his uncle, or Kyoko, or the detectives at the agency even, he would’ve already figured it out.

But he wasn’t.

He wasn’t. And that was that.

“Shuichi?”

He startled when his uncle’s voice, low and groggy with sleep, called from outside his bedroom door.

“I heard some noise from your room. Why are-“ He yawned loudly. “Why are you still awake?”

Shuichi paused. His eyes flitted over to the note, then towards the pink house slippers, peeking from beneath the bedroom door. He bit his lip, eyes skipping back and forth, before eventually shaking his head.

No.

There’s been an influx of clients at the agency recently, so his uncle’s probably overloaded with work. He wouldn’t want to add some weird abstract poetry to that pile. 

(He wouldn’t want to be more of a burden than he already was.)

 _But..._ Shuichi thought as he picked up the white card on his desk. _There’s something telling me that this is no ordinary poem._

_And her blood cries out to him from the soil_

His stomach churned.

He could only hope that he was wrong.  


* * *

**Momota-kun**  
bro?? whr r u??? 

  
**Shuichi**  
Sorry I’m still on the way

**Shuichi**  
I’ll be there soon

  
**Momota-kun**  
oh lol i thought smth happened to u

**Shuichi**  
Oh :(

**Shuichi**  
Sorry, didn’t mean to worry you guys

  
**Harukawa-san**  
just hurry up

 _If only it were that easy._ Shuichi sighed as he tried, not for the first time, to puzzle out the directions to the cafe; Though his valiant attempts were looking grim.

He was starting to wonder if this was a cruel test from some sort of higher power. Or as a more likely option, some form of entertainment for them. Oh just how lovely would that be? Maybe his life was all just one big comedy sitcom, scripted by an awfully sadistic screenwriter — starring him as the butt of the joke.

Then as if the universe wanted to tell him he was spot on, Google Maps started rerouting for the fourth time that morning, pointing him to the _complete opposite_ direction of where he’d been going. 

Shuichi wanted to cry.

Why couldn’t Kaito have picked a more familiar location?

He was just about to message him on LINE when a voice, loud and boisterous, jolted him out of his thoughts.

“Oi! Shuichi!”

And oh because the universe didn’t hate him enough apparently, this was deigned the perfect time for Shuichi to trip over _his own foot._

God, he could practically hear his evil little screenwriter cackling.

Everything that happened after was a blur. One moment he was bracing for impact, and the next he was roughly yanked backwards onto his feet (albeit very shakily).

“Did you forget how to walk?” A sharp voice spoke coolly.

Shuichi whipped around to see his two best friends — Kaito and Maki, the latter of which was glaring daggers into his skull. (He winced. Turns out he wasn’t able to avoid the infamous death stare after all.)

“Thank you, Harukawa-san.” He muttered sheepishly.

Maki huffed, “How do you even function?” 

He shrugged helplessly.

“Hey hey, go easy on him, Harumaki!” Kaito laughed. He forcefully swung an arm around Shuichi’s shoulders, nearly knocking the breath out of Shuichi’s lungs. “My bad for scaring you earlier, bro. We saw you walking in circles for a while and figured you needed some help.”

Maki scoffed. “More like you wanted to see how long he’d take to find the cafe.”

“W-well that’s just ‘cause I believe in my sidekick!”

Shuichi stifled a groan. His face rapidly heated up.

So his friends witnessed him making a fool of himself. That- That was fine. Yes, that was completely fine. He was _fine_.

“Woah!” All of a sudden, Kaito was leaning in until his face was mere inches from his own. Shuichi inhaled sharply. “You’ve got some serious eye bags, bro. Did something happen last night?” 

Desperately avoiding the urge to shove Kaito away because _personal boundaries goddamn it_ , Shuichi averted his gaze, “Ah well it’s just that yesterday at the station, I found a-“

He clamped his mouth shut.

Kaito blinked. “You found a...?”

“I found a...”

Shuichi found himself at a loss of words. Because _that note_ , with all its cryptic words and ominous meanings ( _Typed_. To avoid handwriting recognition? Just to hide their identity? Why why why-) had ‘suspicious’ written all over it and-

His eyes darted to Kaito (who was still too close for comfort) staring at him quizzically, an open look of perplexion and concern. Then to Maki, who was hovering behind them, pretending she wasn’t listening just as intently.

-and he didn’t want to put them in danger.

“I’ll tell you guys next time, okay?” Shuichi said. He tried for a smile. 

Kaito stared at him for a moment longer, before nodding, and Shuichi released a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding. “Okay...If you say so...But update us if anything fishy happens, got it?” 

Maki remained silent, which was an agreement if anything.

Shuichi chuckled. “Y-Yeah, of course.”

Fingers crossed.  


* * *

“Kirigiri-san? I’m here.”

Shuichi fidgeted amongst the hustle and bustle of police officers — flitting around the rooms with stacks of papers and styrofoam cups.

It was rare for the genius prodigy of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department to ask for help (from Shuichi no less!), and even _rarer_ for it to be about a case.

When Kyoko didn’t respond, Shuichi let his eyes drift around the room.

He glanced at a nearby man leaning against the wall, taking slow slips from a cup containing some sort of dark liquid. (Coffee or beer, Shuichi wasn’t exactly sure.) 

Dressed in an immaculate white button-up and navy blue vest, and if that wasn’t telling of his profession, the golden police badge pinned on his vest sure was. It glinted under the bright fluorescent lights overhead — like an actress revelling in the spotlight.

Shuichi looked down at his own attire — a graphic t-shirt, old jeans and a plain, black jacket he had hastily shrugged on that morning — and suddenly, his whole outfit looked...dull. Plain. _Distasteful_.

Shuichi wrapped his arms around himself.

Kyoko, seemingly oblivious to his inner turmoil, continued to shuffle through her files. She wordlessly gestured to the foldable chair beside her.

Shuichi, who hoped that meant sit down, took her up on her offer. 

The hard plastic seat dug into his thighs uncomfortably and he found himself sporadically tapping a beat on his knees. It all felt so wrong. He felt like a crow in a flock of doves. Or a toadstool in a flowerbed. 

The stares of a million police officers — searing, scorching, _burningburningburning_ into his neck. 

And yet when he looked around, no one had even bat him an eye.

He tugged the rim of his cap lower.

It wasn’t long before Kyoko found what she was looking for — a typical manila case file (save for a few coloured tags) to which she handed to him. 

Years of organising case folders ingrained into his fingertips, Shuichi instinctively flipped it open, before quickly realising that this was a legal document and that he probably should’ve asked first. But when Kyoko made no comment, he continued on.

The first thing he saw a small portrait picture of a middle-aged woman. Chin length hair the colour of rich dark chocolate, with a stylistic curl at the ends, gentle blue eyes and notable smile lines around her lips; She was a rather beautiful lady. 

“Nakamura Shizuka. 37 years old. Divorced her third — now ex — husband one month ago.” Kyoko recited, folding her arms across her chest. Shuichi fought to keep a grin off his face. Of course, the Ultimate Detective had already memorised the case report.

“Reported missing one week ago and found buried two days after that. No witnesses, no evidence, no suspects.” Kyoko‘s eyebrow twitched. “Soil and dust in her lungs. Dirt under her fingernails. Most likely buried alive.”

Shuichi winced.

As if dying wasn’t bad enough, she had to go out in such a torturous manner. And as far as he knew, killing — for revenge or power or love — has only brought pain. Not only to the victim, but to all those around them.

Really, he knew that all too well.

Shuichi grip on the file tightened. He whispered, “That- That sounds horrible...but why are you...?”

“I wanted to hear your opinion on your case.” Kyoko said matter-of-factly. A hint of amusement danced in her eyes. “From one detective to another.”

His grip tightened again, but this time for a completely different reason. Were he more conscious of his behaviour, he would have been more concerned about the papers potentially wrinkling. “Kirigiri-san, you know I’m not-“ _Not a real detective._ “Not since-“

 _Eyes. Brimming with fury. And hate. Hate. So much hate. Murky, vast. A sea of truth. And oh how he struggled to keep afloat_.

His eyes dropped back to the case report to avoid meeting Kyoko’s eyes. He thought back to her previous words. _Soil and dust in the lungs. Dirt under her fingernails. Most likely buried...alive..._

Wait.

A familiar string of words resurfaced in his mind. 

Kyoko arched an eyebrow and leaned forward. “You know something,” she said. A statement, not a question.

“W-well,” Shuichi stammered, heart pounding in his chest. _Well okay so. Either I tell her about how I connected two separate unrelated details and seem unreasonably paranoid. Or I don’t tell her and make myself seem incredibly suspicious. Paranoid or mistrustful. Pick your poison, Shuichi._

Kyoko tilted her head, silently waiting for him to continue, and Shuichi decided _to hell with it_ because being irrationally apprehensive was significantly less damaging to his reputation than becoming a murder suspect.

He cleared his throat. “I-It’s just that...I received a note at the agency earlier this week, and something about the lines reminded me of the case.”

“By any chance, do you mean this?” Kyoko said; And held up between her fingers was a distinctively familiar white card.

Upon witnessing Shuichi’s jaw-slacked expression, she elaborated, “The police department received the same note few days ago. I’d be lying if I said some of the lines didn’t strike me as... _odd_.” She rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “It’s certainly worth looking into.”

Shuichi released a breath he didn’t realise he was holding. If Kyoko said that it was relevant to the case, then it’s probably true. She wasn’t called the _“Ultimate Detective”_ for nothing after all, albeit a title that the media had granted, but an honourable title no less.

“Saihara-kun, do you mind joining me for this investigation?” 

Shuichi’s jaw hit the floor. No scratch that. It went straight to the Earth’s molten core.

He knew that Kyoko preferred to work alone, worked best when there was no one there to hinder her investigations. And she knew that he knew that. 

But perhaps it was just a joke. A witty comment or a sarcastic remark, a light jab at his incompetence, anything except ...whatever this was. Shuichi kept waiting for the metaphorical ball to drop but when none came, he simply gaped at her.

“I-I don’t...” Shuichi blinked twice. “Why?”

Kyoko shrugged noncommittally and plucked the case file from his slack grip. “ _Detectives_ should work together after all, don’t you think?” 

And just like that, she left without another word.  


* * *

_This is how I die._

Shuichi grunted. His arms trembled with overexertion as he shifted the bags in his hold.

_Not exactly the way I imagined, but hey, things happen._

The chirping of cicadas mingled with the bustling crowds that milled about the busy streets of Tokyo. And the sun — with its brilliant amber hues, like a melting pot of rich honey and butterscotch — breathed gold all throughout the city.

Shuichi halted to take in the view, to the disgruntlement of the businessman that walked into him.

It was beautiful, really. How sunlight bled through the murky white clouds. How land and sky kissed at the horizon. How nature’s melodies seemed to blend together seamlessly in perfect harmony. Melded, twisted and twined — a never ending loop of beauty and life. A natural progression of growth.

 _And if that’s the case,_ Shuichi mused as he began to walk again. _If all elements of nature are just stages of life, then the moon has to be an elderly man._

Melancholic. Sentimental. Gazing at the fervour and passion of life on Earth from a distance, separated- no, isolated from the rest of the world. And they must be terribly, terribly lonely.

Or perhaps the moon was a mother? Lovingly watching over humanity from afar. Guiding the lost when they needed it the most. Providing comfort to teenagers puzzling over riddles alone in their room.

 _But then,_ Shuichi briefly pondered, _what does that make the sun?_

Beads of perspiration trickled down his forehead as he continued trudging forward, all the while trying (and failing) to ignore the bewildered looks he was receiving from various passersby. Cradled close to his chest is an alarming amount of takeout, for each and every one of the employees at the Saihara Detective Agency.

And the weather was definitely _not_ on his side today.

With the sun beating down on him persistently, the sweltering summertime heat was really starting to take a toll on him. Though it was only when he ran into a pole and then promptly apologised to _said pole,_ that it fully registered that yeah, he should really take a break. Also the very real possibility of becoming one of the many case files in Kyoko’s compartmentalised drawer sounded... not fun. 

Shuichi slipped into an alleyway — to avoid The Businessman Incident from happening again — and crouched down, dropping all the bags on the floor with a thud. Immediately, it felt as though a tidal wave had washed over him, drenching him in cool relief. He slumped against the wall, shoulders sagging as he took a deep breath — one so prolonged and innate that it felt like his soul had left his body in that single exhale.

Shuichi sent a quick mental apology to Kaito and Maki. Turns out their after-school workout sessions were for naught after all. Because if he couldn’t even carry a couple bags for a while, he was clearly irredeemable. Not to mention that summer vacation had only just begun.

Shuichi closed his eyes and let the incessant chatter of the crowds fade into white noise. Well, at least that was the plan before the faint rustling of plastic caught his attention, and out of the corner of his eye, a small cat hopped out of a cardboard box.

 _Oh_. Shuichi thought as he fully turned his head to watch the feline. _Hello there._

Large round eyes — heterochromatic, one hazelnut brown and the other, an impossible shade of sky blue — blinked at him owlishly, and its fur, which was more of a wild tuft of grey and white, bristled when it finally registered the stranger before it.

 _A Scottish-fold munchkin._ A part of his brain, which had previously gone through several hours of research for missing pet cases, helpfully supplied.

The cat, seemingly having deemed Shuichi as ‘not dangerous’, took measured steps towards the heap of plastic bags, it’s tail swishing in an obvious display of piqued interest.

 _Ah. You must be hungry, aren’t you?_ Shuichi smiled. He dug through the bags for his own share, re-emerging victorious with a takeaway bento.

A warm cloud of steam burst from under the bento lid as soon as it was yanked open. Using two fingers, Shuichi delicately picked a piece of salmon from his bento. But apparently, he forgot that it was freshly grilled AKA hot as fuck and dropped it with a jolt.

 _Oh well,_ He mused as he watched the cat dig in. _I guess you don’t really mind either way._

Shuichi, who had been itching to pet the cat for the past few minutes, finally thought what the hell, why not and gave into temptation. _I wonder if Ojii-san would let me keep you._ He thought. Distracted by the cat’s soft fur, Shuuichi was barely aware of the ominous shadow cast over him.

“ _Eh~_ What’s this? I leave for one moment and Emi-chan is already cheating on me!” 

Shuichi froze. 

Inwardly, he cursed his luck — first the lunch, then a stranger. You would think that his metaphorical screenwriter would have at least give him a script to work with here.

Footsteps gradually grew louder and louder, as did Shuichi’s racing heartbeat. Then, a pair of sneakers, dyed purple and black, stepped into his field of vision.

He caught a glimpse of a figure — white hoodie, black pants, with a plastic bag in hand — and out of pure instinct, Shuuichi ducked his head down, hoping his hat was enough to obscure his face.

“Hmm...don’t you think it’s rude to ignore someone like that, Mr. Home-wrecker?” The voice said with a teasing lilt. The sneakers took a few steps forward. Shuichi’s breath quickened. 

“Oh? Unless...” A loud gasp. “You’re actually a serial killer! _Ooh_ and you slaughter kittens for fun!” An even louder gasp. “Is poor Emi-chan is your next target?”

“What? _No!_ ”

Shuichi snapped his head up, eyes wide with horror.

“Poor Emi-chan! Her life is going to end at the hands of a cold-blooded murderer!” The boy warbled, his voice gradually growing shakier. Shuichi’s stomach dropped. That didn’t sound good. His theory was confirmed when the boy violently burst into tears. A strangled wail erupted from his throat, bouncing off the walls of the alleyway. “How could the world be so cruel?!”

 _Oh no no no no no — this is NOT good. Shuichi, what have you done? No really, what_ have _you done?_

He frantically shot up, hands hesitantly reaching for the boy’s shoulders. For what, he didn’t know. To pat him? To hug him? To _shake_ him? What are you supposed to do when someone starts sobbing in front of you?

“Hey now, I’m not going to hurt E-Emi-chan, okay? So please don’t-“

“Okay! I feel a lot better now!” 

Huh?

The boy rubbed his eyes and the tears were gone. No flushed cheeks, no red-rimmed eyes, no tear tracks. Nothing. As if he hadn’t been bawling his eyes out just a moment ago. Shuichi would have thought himself insane if it weren’t for the stains on the boy’s hoodie (dear god please let those be from tears).

“Crying really gets everything out of your system, don’t you think?” The boy said, leaning back on his heels. A wide carefree grin stretched on his face. As if he didn’t just give Shuichi a whiplash.

And all Shuichi could do was blink.

He’s starting to wonder if he had fainted from heat exhaustion after all, and the last five minutes had been all part of one elaborate fever dream. Or maybe he was being pranked by amateur videographers looking to start a new web series? 

Oh god, was he being filmed right now? Somehow, that thought was scarier than an imminent death by heat stroke.

Though, now that he could get a better look at the boy, Shuichi could see that he couldn’t be older than sixteen. Framed around his cheeks was short hair the colour of dark indigo. It reached his chin before curling outwards sporadically. Bouncy and vibrant. _Like ribbons._ Shuichi thought distractedly. 

But most notable of all were his eyes. (Deep periwinkle — a particularly distinctive eye colour that Shuichi had never seen before.) They were bright and open, carrying air of childlike innocence and vulnerability. And yet there was something...off about them. Closed off, almost. Not to mention the dark rims under their eyes.

“Well...I guess a heartless serial killer wouldn’t really understand.” The boy said and Shuichi tensed when he realised that “heartless serial killer” was referring to him. If there was anything Shuichi hated more than assumptions (assumptions led to rumours, rumours led to gossip), it was _baseless_ assumptions. And just where pray tell was his murder weapon, his gloves, his disguise, his _apparent_ record of past killings, anything that might insinuate that he was a _deranged murderous fiend._

 _“Trust me, if I was a heartless serial killer, you’d make me consider expanding beyond kittens.”_ He had to bite himself back from saying.

The boy had a blank look on his face. Nothing in his expression gave him away but there was a look in his eyes that was almost knowing. And _god_ , wasn’t that a little infuriating.

“I’m not a serial killer,” Shuichi insisted, choosing to ignore how petulant it came out.

“I don’t know...” The boy stroked his chin in mock thought. “Sounds like something a serial killer would say.” 

“What- That doesn’t-“ A sigh. “Look, I’m telling the truth.”

“Oh yeah? Tell that to the police.” The boy said, inspecting his fingernails in an entirely dismissive manner. “I already called them y’know? They should be here aaaany minute now!”

Shuichi blanched. “Wait! You called the police?”

The boy’s stared at him impassively for a few moments, before a large grin broke out in his face, “Nishishi~ Did I get ya?”

_Huh?_

Shuichi didn’t realise he had voiced as such until the boy continued, rocking back on his heels, “I lied about the police thing y’know? ‘Cause that’s what I do.” His grin stretched even wider, almost maniacally. “I’m a liar.”

Shuuichi blinked.

“A...liar?”

A liar who tells people they lie?

“Yup! That’s me, yours truly! Or maybe I’m lying about that too?”

Having stupefied Shuichi into silence, the boy crouched down in front of the munchkin, presumably to resume his main order of business. A rustling of plastic was heard before he pulled out a small aluminium can.

 _Oh._ Shuichi thought, after having caught up with reality. _He brought food for the cat._

The cat, Emi-chan, moseyed towards the boy. She rubbed her head against his hand, almost like a show of thanks, before devouring her second meal of the day. Shuichi smiled at the sign of familiarity.

At least, however peculiar the boy was (or however perturbing his laugh might be), he couldn’t be very dangerous.

Shuichu squatted down next to him, earning a bemused glance from the boy.

“I-Is she yours?” At the boy’s quizzical look, Shuichi gestured towards the munchkin, “Emi-chan.” 

He wasn’t sure what compelled him to prolong the conversation. Maybe to try his hand at understanding mysterious person before him. Or to make sense of his bizarre behaviour. Like he was another enigma. Another poem that needed solving.

The boy beamed. “Of course she is! My darling, my angel, the love of my life — She’s aaaaaall I need in the world!”

Shuichi hummed. While it was unclear if the boy was exaggerating or not, he clearly still cared for this little feline, and the fact that he was here right now was proof enough. Shuichi’s seen enough cases of animals being abandoned, left to starve and fend for themselves. It was nice that at least this one was receiving lots of love. “You must really care for her, huh?” Shuichi said absentmindedly.

“Hm? You dare doubt my love? I’ll have you know that Emi-chan and I share an emotional bond far deeper than your pea-sized brain could ever comprehend.” 

Momentarily taken aback by the not-so-subtle jibe, Shuichi stumbled though his response, “Eh? Um s-sorry?”

The boy sniffled. His eyes started to grow glassy, and Shuuichi panicked because he was not about to do this again. 

“Oh god _please_ don’t cry again what- what can I do to make it up to you?” He blurted.

The boy immediately stopped tearing, his frown instantaneously replaced with an impish grin. “Well, since you so lovingly insisted, if you grovel at my feet and beg for my forgiveness-“ His eyes glinted. “-I _might_ just forgive you.”

“ _What-_

“Well that’s a lie, of course.” The boy singsonged.

Shuichi groaned. 

He surrendered. 

There was just no telling with this boy. Somehow Shuichi had come out of the conversation with more questions than answers. Not to mention that talking to the boy was really draining his social meter quick. And contrary to popular belief, Shuichi was _not_ a masochist.

He got up to his feet and hefted the bags, fully intending on leaving. One final glance towards the boy revealed a pair of periwinkle eyes staring back at him.

He shifted his feet. “Uh goodbye?” 

The boy, upon being addressed, perked up and waved his arms enthusiastically, “Bye bye, Saihara-chan!”

Determined to erase the boy from his memory before his brain started to hurt itself trying to figure him out, Shuichi briskly left the alleyway.

And as he strolled down the streets with bags in tow, admiring the sunny sky, something inside him clicks.

If the moon was a doting mother, he decided, then the sun was its child. Full of life. Full of laughter. Frolicking through meadows on the brink of spring’s blossom into summer. Tripping the light fantastic to a merry tune — a tune only they were privy to. And purple ribbons streamed behind them wherever they went.

It wasn’t until Shuuichi reached the agency that he realised he hadn’t revealed his name to the boy once.

* * *

Shuichi stared resolutely at his bowl of rice. His chopsticks have been toying with a poor grain for the past few minutes, so much so that it had already become unidentifiable mush. 

He sighed inwardly. Well, better now than never. He put his chopsticks on the table.

“I don’t want to be a detective.”

Shuichi’s uncle choked on his tamagoyaki.

“You _don’t_?

“Hiroshi!” Shuuichi’s aunt slapped his uncle’s shoulder, who was still valiantly attempting to swallow his tamagoyaki. Shuichi spared him a sympathetic look. 

His aunt turned towards him. “Don’t worry about him. We’ll...” She smiled weakly. “We’ll support you in whatever you want to do.”

Shuichi nodded.

That probably would have been a really touching statement (and really, it still was) if he even had career he wanted to pursue. 

And he was all too aware of how disappointed — or rather, upset his guardians probably were. Helping out at the detective agency was a means to express his gratitude his aunt and uncle. To repay the debt his parents have oh so benevolently forced onto them. And while he didn’t intend to quit ( _yet_ , whispered from the corner of his mind), surely a few measly years of part-time meant nothing in the long run. 

His uncle cleared his throat and smiled sheepishly.

“Sorry kiddo, I just thought that with you helping out at the agency and all... I mean, you’ve even solved a couple cases yourself.” He said with an awkward chuckle. “Are...Are you sure?”

Shuichi nodded, still keeping his head low.

The two adults shared a look before his aunt spoke again, “May we ask why?” 

Shuichi paused.

He thought of a body, pale and lifeless, bleeding streams of crimson red. He thought of anguished wails and jagged breaths, so loud he could hear them from the backseat of his uncle’s car. He thought of hard, rigid eyes like molten lava, crawling over his skin and scorching flesh inside and out, until he was _burningburningburning_.

He thought of a girl made of music. With laughter like twinkling bells. Whispers like wind chimes. And a melody in her wake.

“No reason,” he replied.

“And what about that offer Kirigiri-san gave you?”

“...I haven’t thought about it.” 

“Well, you know what I think?” His uncle said, offering an encouraging smile. “I think you should accept it. Like a... final investigation of sorts.”

_Final investigation, huh?_

Shuichi nodded slowly. 

His aunt smiled. She put an extra piece of karaage into his bowl. “You’ve been getting skinnier these days. You should eat more.”

And that was the end of their conversation.

Afterwards, Shuichi would excuse himself early from dinner, and pretend he couldn’t hear the hushed whispers behind his back as he left the table.

* * *

Shuichi stepped into his room, the door shutting behind him with a final click. He let out a heavy exhale and all the tension in his body left with it. Like a deflating balloon. Or pirouetting confetti that fluttered to the ground. Or the fading sparks of fireworks blooming in the midnight sky. Or...well, he couldn’t be bothered to think up more imageries.

Shuichi staggered backwards until his back hit the bedroom door, and slid towards the floor. Dinner had been...painfully awkward

_I...I don’t think I’ve said a single truthful thing during that conversation._

And that realisation hit him harder than he had expected. Because a detective couldn’t exactly go out _deceiving_ others, could they? A real detective was a hunter for verity. A seeker of justice. Regardless of how filthy and ugly and _bitter_ the truth may be, a real detective pursued it to the ends of the earth, even if they had to drag it out kicking and screaming. A real detective faced challenges head on, with unwavering strength and confidence.

A real detective wasn’t a coward, a _weakling,_ who hides beneath the shelter of a black rimmed cap.

 _You’re working yourself up again.Try breathing slowly._ A voice — velvety, feminine and oh so familiar — in the back of his mind said. _Look, I’ll be your metronome. Just follow my counting, okay?_

And he did.

He counted — breathed in ones, twos and threes — until it all synced to the sound of his own heartbeat. 

Hazy eyes lazily scanned the room — more so to keep his mind distracted than anything — and like a moth drawn to flame, they drifted to the moon.

A glowing orb painted milky white in a sea of inky dark. Stars that hover around not too far but never too close. Always there but not quite. Always asking but never answered.

_Surely, the moon will never be lonely._

But that couldn’t be quite right, could it?

Because even surrounded by millions upon billions of stars, the moon was still alone. Still too distant. Untouchable.

He didn’t know how long he simply sat there, shrouded in the darkness of his own room and basking in the nighttime ambience. He gazed at the birds, the trees, the sky, the stars — and for a moment, he heard the faint beginnings of a melody long forgotten, but it was gone as soon as it came.

A vibration in his pocket. He fished his phone out with languished movements. 

**Momota-kun**  
how did it go

 **Momota-kun**  
did you tell him??

  
**Shuichi**  
Yeah

  
**Momota-kun**  
damn ok

 **Momota-kun**  
i guess this is kinda a real thing now, huh?

 **Momota-kun**  
tbh it’s still kinda hard to believe

 **Momota-kun**  
like no offence bro i just honestly can’t imagine you doing anything else

Shuichi exited the chat window before he could reply something stupid like _Me either._

Because truthfully speaking, Shuichi _did_ want to become a detective. He genuinely enjoyed solving mysteries and helping clients. What once started as a way to help out had developed into something _fun_. _Rewarding_ , even. The ‘eureka’ of an epiphany, the satisfaction of his deductions being proven right, and the emotional thank you, thank you, _thank yous_ that he received at the end of the day; They were all feelings that he held near and dear to his heart and if life had gone down the same beaten path, he knew what career he would have set his heart on.

Then _that_ case happened. And suddenly finding the truth wasn’t so fun after all. Suddenly the truth was harsh, bitter and cruel. Suddenly the truth had consequences. And perhaps if it were just that, he would have gotten over it. Would have accepted it and moved on, because pain was a part and parcel of life that Shuichi had known all too well. But then _she-_ she went and-

Shuichi hastily rubbed his eyes. He looked back at his phone, the screen having long since turned itself off. He turned it on and scrolled through his contacts until he found what he was looking for. His thumb hovered over the name.

A shaky breath.

One final investigation — before he bade farewell to detective work. To eurekas, triumphs and thank yous. 

One last time.

He typed out a response before he could change his mind.

**Author's Note:**

> would you guys prefer shorter but more frequent updates or longer chapters like this?


End file.
